


Extrovert/Introvert

by incapricious



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-03
Updated: 2011-07-03
Packaged: 2017-10-20 23:33:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/218305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/incapricious/pseuds/incapricious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes you need to talk to figure things out.  And sometimes you don't need to talk at all.</p><p>(Written for a holmesverse challenge.  The first half is all dialogue, the second half has no dialogue.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Extrovert/Introvert

"I didn't realise he was serious."

"What's that, dear? Serious about what?"

"When we first met, he told me that sometimes he doesn't talk for days. I thought it was just hyperbole. But I haven't heard a peep out of him since Thursday."

"You poor thing. Sometimes it's easier if they shout; get it out of their system. Better than the silent treatment, I always say."

"No, he's not angry. He's... thinking, I assume."

"About what?"

"I've no idea."

"Has there been another murder?"

"No, not that I'm aware. But he doesn't exactly share everything with me."

"I can't imagine. Not talking, I mean. It must be so difficult. Like those nuns."

"Sorry, which nuns?"

"You know, the ones who take vows of silence. Or those monks who wear orange."

"It might be relaxing, actually. I think sometimes words only get in the way of what we really mean."

"I read an article once, about a cat who lived in a monastery. It had-- oh, is everything all right? You've gone a bit flushed."

"I'm fine. It's a text from Sherlock. He's being funny."

"He texted you a joke? I love jokes. Let's hear it, then."

"No, it's not a joke. He-- oh. I think maybe... I'm sorry, I've got to go. Thank you for the tea. I--"

"I understand, dear. Take some biscuits for Sherlock; he doesn't eat enough."

\--

Sherlock accepts that what Moriarty said at the pool was true. He felt the veracity of it in that moment, and his certainty has done nothing but grow in the months since.

It galls him, that he missed something so obvious. He knew he was drawn to John, almost from the moment they met, but assumed it was because John was useful to him: a practical, stoic doctor, accustomed to violence and in need of a flatmate. Symbiosis. That's all. The bacteria living in his gut have no emotional attachment to him, and vice versa. They need each other, but that doesn't mean they like each other, let alone love.

Yet, the fact that Sherlock loves John cannot be denied. Sherlock never felt this particular emotion before, and even though the descriptions of it in popular culture turned out to be inadequate, he recognized it nonetheless, in a burst of understanding, while John was held hostage by a madman.

Not the recognition of a mutually compatible organism, then. Love. Even more trite: love at first sight.

It would be bothersome if it weren't so interesting.

Sherlock spends three days considering his options. The solution comes to him on Sunday afternoon. He picks up his phone and sends a text. It's simple and to-the-point.

In thirty seconds he hears the door to Mrs Hudson's flat closing, followed by the thump of John's feet running up the stairs.

Sherlock stands and waits for whatever comes next.


End file.
